Dancing Through Life
by Pantomime Banjo
Summary: Unlike Mathias, who supposedly spends every spare minute goofing off, Berwald hasn't cut loose since the 70s, but being a notorious "stick in the mud" isn't exactly going to get him the "girl," now is it? Songfic.


Second request done, yay! This is for the epic morningnight, who was nice enough to just tell me to write whatever I felt like writing. Somehow, that ended up being a songfic. :D Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Hetalia, also don't own "Popular" or Eric Saade.

Note: None of the characters other than Berwald and Mathias are actually important (or countries).

Warnings: Language, sexual themes, human names

* * *

><p>With a face like his, the last place most people would expect to find him is a nightclub. The writhing bodies and flashing lights just didn't mesh with hard blue eyes and a jawline that looked like it could break someone's hand without even bruising, if the occasion arose. Of course, the benefit of looking so terrifying was that few were foolish enough to actually try to challenge him, especially since he stood a good several inches over six feet tall. Alfred, far too self-assured to find anyone threatening, had spent <em>months<em> trying to talk him into playing his bizarre version of football, whatever the hell _that _meant for him; the kid was far too annoying to pay too much attention to, much like a certain Dane who was currently absolutely _loving _the attention he was getting from a crowd of German girls. The way his hands were roaming over all of the exposed skin and impossibly tight cotton, it seemed that Berwald's efforts would be for nothing.

_Stop, don't say that it's impossible,_

_'cause I know it's possible._

As if he'd let the hours he'd spent finding his outfit and working up the courage to actually _put it on_ and go somewhere go to waste. He knew damn well that some black skinny jeans, a fitted red dress shirt, and a white tie were hardly most people's idea of a daring outfit, but then again, most people didn't have their self-esteem formed by years of torment at the hands of a cocky Dane. From the glances he was getting from girls with wide, glazed eyes and skin barely covered enough to be considered decent, the Swede could guess that he'd more or less succeeded in making himself look attractive, at least in the forgiving semi-darkness of the area just to the side of the bar, where he'd been ordering a steady stream of vodka. The bartender seemed to be wondering just how he was still standing nearly halfway through his second fifth of the stuff, but Berwald barely felt it. The drink wasn't helping him to forget Mathias's ridiculously high standards, nor was it making him blind to the quick retreat of anyone who started to venture towards him once they saw his face.

_Though I know you never look my way,_

Speaking of those standards, it seemed as though the Dane himself had just remembered them, easily evading the Germans he didn't consider worth his time to search for better prey in the gyrating mass of dancers. _'He looks like that king he keeps telling us he is out there,'_ Berwald mused, watching the elder man slip effortlessly through the crush of bodies. He could barely bring himself to dance on the very fringe of the mob on the best of days, ABBA be damned. Another swig of vodka slid down his throat; by that point, he didn't even feel the burn anymore. _'Ivan would be damned proud to see that..'_ After the first hour, he'd just bought the bottle off of the uneasy man behind the bar, and that was all he could be bothered to drink from. Glasses were just a waste of time to him.

Mathias found a group of students from America that seemed to be good enough for the time being; he'd always been a sucker for accents.

Berwald chugged the rest of the bottle and set it down on the counter with a sort of gentleness that surprised the few who had been watching him - after all, how could someone who could so easily crush a man's bones ever be anything but a brute? It was about time he did something other than sulk in a corner.

_I can say, you will one day._

There was, of course, no way in hell that his target would stop moving and touching long enough to even notice the bar before it was too late.

He'd just have to put himself somewhere more conspicuous.

_I can say, you will one day._

In the arms of that sad German girl his "brother" had not long ago rejected sounded about right. "Miss," he started, just loud enough to be heard over the music shaking the walls, the furniture, the floor, and the people, both still and nigh-epileptic. Berwald managed a small smile in victory when he noticed the girl's expression, managing to make his face seem just that much less terrifying. _'It's so much easier when they like accents..'_ "Möchtest du mit mir tanzen?" He made no real effort to hide the slight accent he still bore after hundreds of years; the language only came in handy so often when he spent most of his time trying to avoid the Danes. Obviously, things had changed.. or would, with any luck.

_I will be popular, I will be popular._

"Ja, selvfølgelig," she giggled, clearly well on her way to complete inebriation. _'..She thinks I'm Danish..?' _The guess was probably more reasonable than he'd like to admit; he _was_ dressed to match the flag.. in a club in Mathias's København of all places. Regardless of his nationality, the brunette had wrapped her fingers around his wrist – _'She's so warm..' _- and navigated the pair of them through the crowd, near enough to its center that he had a perfect view of his goal. _'Excellent.'_

The Swede had been away from the dance scene long enough to come closest to his comfort zone just following along with the movements of the crowd; he didn't have much room to move without putting in some effort, anyway. The girl – was she telling him her name was Monika? - certainly didn't seem to mind, judging by how enthusiastically she was twisting and rolling her hips against his. He could practically feel Mathias on her, he observed, or maybe he was just obsessed. He decided to stop worrying about it and somehow managed to do so.

_I'm gonna get there, popular._

Another few songs saw him changing partners; maybe-Monika was replaced with a pink-haired Englishman, some redhead, one of the American students who'd been ignored by Mathias in favor of someone "better," an impossibly blond Dane in no shirt and pants so tight Berwald was a little frightened to be so close to him for any length of time. The last stuck around for a while, and he somehow managed to yell up to the Swede over the music, getting him to laugh. "For such a scary guy, you're pretty fuckin' hot when you lighten up," he charged. Frej, he was fairly certain was the name that had been shouted into his ear when the exhibitionist had seized his way over. He wasn't exactly bad-looking, either. Berwald wondered briefly if he just had some sort of fetish for Danes.

_My body wants you girl, my body wants you girl_

He quickly decided that was ludicrous, swayed from thinking to much by an expert flick of his current partner's hips. "Chill out, Be; you're a fuckin' good dancer." When had he given him his name, exactly? Berwald had no clue. "Or at least you would be if you'd fuckin' _dance. _You like this in Stockholm? Do we scare you?" _'No.' _He didn't even go to these sorts of places in Stockholm._ 'More than anything.' _When had he mentioned being Swedish, even?

..When had he said anything to this kid? Oh well. Maybe the vodka was finally doing something. Obediently, Berwald stepped up his efforts, actually leading some of the dancers around him for the rest of the song. "There ya go!" Frej cheered helpfully. Berwald decided to take the fact that an obnoxious Dane had taken to him so well as a good sign and not just an obvious result of his location and appearance.

The similar reaction of Frej's friends, when they turned up, only encouraged him further.

_I'm gonna get there, popular._

The group managed to clear some space in the crowd, and they took turns showing off in the room provided to, ironically enough, a remixed version of "Dancing Queen." Berwald laughed and cheered on his friends for the moment, managing to avoid being thrust into the center until a few songs later. By then, he somehow managed to not even care and focused on showing up the little Danish children who were currently screaming and pounding out the beat to the song on their bodies.

_I'll put my hands up in the lights_

Taking no notice of the crowd, least of all the pointy head of blond hair that was quickly making its way to the very front of the circle around him, the Swede manipulated himself like the best of them. It seemed, to Frej at least, that the only thing keeping his scary new friend from showing up every damn person in the joint was fear, and for the moment, they'd managed to steal that from him. Success.

_You'll see me dancing for my life_

Mathias shoved a purple-haired Brit out of his way calmly, confusion forcing down his usual adrenalin for the moment. "The fuck.. Sve?" he muttered, losing his position and opportunity to see the dancer to the technicolor pair of island-dwellers who'd been focused on his former charge for some time now. _'There's no. Fucking. Way that's him,' _he thought with much more conviction than he actually felt.

"Go Berry!"

_I will be popular, I will be popular._

"Fuck yeah!"

He shoved the Englishmen apart again to confront something he'd never even dreamed was possible again, trying to understand that, yes, _his Berwald_ was fucking _tearing it up_ out there. On a dance floor. In a club. _In fucking __København. _Alfred's _Twilight Zone _theme played itself in his head to a dubstep beat while he watched the Swede practically fucking some upstart Danish kid through their pants on his way back to the sidelines.

_I'm gonna get there, popular._

"That was fuckin' awesome, Be!" Frej screamed in his face. Berwald still couldn't manage to wipe the grin off of his face, even though he was certain he looked more ridiculous like that than even Antonio usually did.

"'Course it was," he answered, only half joking. It might have been the vodka or the contact high, or even just the actual, positive attention from someone for once, but Berwald felt _fucking amazing_, in the rare, actually worth something as a person sort of way. Not even the dissolution of the little exhibition phased him; he just kept dancing, mind focused only on the lights, the music, and the young, young Danes fighting for positions around him.

_Spread the new, I'm gonna take the fight_

He'd completely forgotten about Mathias for a few moments, until one of the kids let out a nearly impossibly familiar cackle. _'Focus, idiot,' _he thought, not really managing to be properly angry with himself. The night was turning out to be way too interesting for that. _'You're here for one person, and none of these little kids are him. They'll be dead before you can blink, and then you'll just be dancing alone in someone else's city like an idiot.' _That did it. If he never displayed the sort of violence people expected of his natural intensity towards others, he certainly managed ten times that when it came to himself.

_For the spotlight_

A few hundred years of the only reactions to his presence being disdain or terror kind of made him feel that he was just not quite fit for human society. Vash had eventually managed to change his mind, but that still didn't mean he liked attention.

_Day and night._

Berwald shook his head of the thoughts and memories and summoned up another smirk in response to whatever was being babbled at him. _'Okay. Now. Where the hell is Mathias?' _A quick survey of the crowd turned up nothing, and he panicked silently for a moment. Hair that ridiculous shouldn't be something he could just _miss_, meaning Mathias _wasn't there._

**What the fuck.**

"Hey, Be, you lookin' for someone?" Oh, right, people liked him now.

"Mmm, kind of," he admitted, blinking down at one of Frej's sisters, he thought, who seemed to be about half his height.

She cackled. He tried his best not to blush, knowing before she even spit out words that he'd been caught. "So it's _that _kind of someone. What's he look like?"

Wait, what? "Hey, what makes you think that-"

"Fuckin' really, man? You dance like _that _with my bror and expect me to think you're after a _girl_?"

Okay, fair enough. Berwald launched into his description without bothering to actually answer the girl's question, managing to keep any starry-eyed embellishments out by sticking to his usual clipped efficiency.

"Well damn. I'd say he sounds pretty boring, but I think that's just you, 'cause I totally say that guy before, and he was fucking _hot._"

"Hej! I'm not- Wait, you saw him?" Focus, idiot, nobody cares if she thinks you're boring.

"Hell yeah, how could I not? He was, like, right up in my face, watching you before. Seemed kinda out of it, though, but not, like, the good kind of out of it. At least I don't think so.." So he was, what? High? Here with Daan? Who cares?

"Do you know where he went?" Berwald questioned, somewhat surprised to notice that the two of them had still been dancing as if on autopilot throughout the conversation. He could do that? _'The night is just full of surprises, hm?'_

"Uhhh, maybe? I think he headed out to get a drink or something, I dunno. He has a damn nice ass.."

_'**Fuck **yes he does. Gah, focus!' _"Tak," he muttered, not concerned with the girl hearing him. He'd probably never see her again even if this somehow managed to work; rumor had it that Mathias never bothered with the same place more than once. _'How does he find so many places to go?' _Berwald mused as he slid through the crowd almost as easily as he'd marveled at other's doing not three hours ago._ 'I wonder if he ever visits anywhere in Sweden..'_ Mathias would, logically, have to if the stories were true, and yet he still wasn't convinced that the Dane would ever bother to set foot in his homeland for any reason other than to torment him. No matter. He'd be changing that, one way or another.

_I can take this to the number one_

Laughter sounded out somewhere behind him, just loud enough for him to catch over the music. "Go get him, Be!"

"You can do it!"

_Be someone before you're gone_

_'No, not really. But fuck if I won't _try_.' _He managed to find Mathias atop a barstool, a glass of something in his hand that would almost look like akvavit if the lights above him weren't blue at the moment. "You never did seem like one to drink away your sorrows alone," he managed to spit out in a relatively normal tone once he'd gathered the courage to actually walk over to him.

_Be someone before you're gone_

Mathias gave a start at the sound of the Swede's voice, and when he turned around, his usual smirk seemed just a bit less cocky. But only for a moment. "Who the fuck told you that's what I was doing? They're an idiot; I just needed a drink, danced too hard," he countered, grinning.

_'Fuck, that stupid grin.. FOCUS.' _"Still by yourself. Haven't seen you like that in a damn long time," he offered in his defense, shrugging.

"So take a seat. I'd meant to pull you out of your terribly busy schedule of being fucking creepy as hell soon anyway. Got something to ask you about," the Dane stated, waving a hand at the stool next to him. "Nice outfit by the way, like the shirt and tie." _'Fuck, forgot about that..' _"Hey hey bartender! Mind getting my friend here a glass?"

The shifts had changed before, halle-fucking-lujah for small miracles. The bubbly redhead giggled and bounced off to fetch another cold glass, setting it in front of Berwald and pouring the drink – he still wasn't quite sure what the hell it was, but no matter, he could more than take anything Mathias was downing, so long as it was just alcohol – with a wink to the newcomer as he seated himself.

The new host snickered at the display. "What the hell, I think she likes you," he pointed out once she'd gone.

_I will be popular, I will be popular_

"Not that shocking, Køhler." It seemed strange for Berwald to actually believe the words as they tumbled out of his mouth before he could think about them, but somehow, he did, and that feeling from earlier came back a bit.

Mathias just laughed. "That so? Good for you." He slapped the larger man on the back cheerfully before motioning for him to pick up the glass. "Skål." The two down the drinks – yes, definitely akvavit – in unison, glasses clicking on the hard surface of the bar barely a beat later. "You should definitely try to get her number, Sve; I think you actually have a pretty good chance here. That can't happen to fuckin' often, huh?"

Berwald wasn't sure if that was an insult or if the elder was just actually surprised, so he kept his mouth shut and motioned for the redhead to bring him a bottle of vodka.

"So what brings you here anyway?"

_'Your stupid fucking grin, that impossible hair, ridiculous accent, goddamn _fantastic _ass..' _"Just felt like a change of scenery, I guess."

"Aaaand the outfit?"

"Seemed appropriate. You gonna argue?"

A grin. "Nah. I know my city's awesome and all, and I totally don't blame you for liking it better than everywhere else, but why, Berwald dearest, come _here_ of all of the magically wonderful places you could go in my København?"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. "Wanted to find you."

...What the fuck just happened.

_I'm gonna get there, popular._

"Me?" That insane cackle. "What, gonna challenge me to a dance-off?"

Berwald sipped at his vodka and mused upon the sudden courage his mouth seemed to have that his brain was missing. "Maybe. Think you could even win?" WHOA.

Whoa.

_Mathias_ didn't even know what the hell to say to that. He settled for adopting a predatory grin that made his companion flinch instinctively, trying his damnedest not to remember the other times he'd seen that face. "Let's find out, huh?" The Dane slid off his stool gracefully and stood, waiting impatiently. "C'mon. You can't just say that and then not take me on. Let's go."

_'Yeeeeeeeees I can. Just watch me.' _Berwald got off the stool anyway and veritably _strutted_ past his former boss, finding Frej and his friends, including the sister who was currently _beaming at him with the force of a hundred thousand rainbows._ "Mind clearing them out for us again? Mathias doesn't think I can outdo him," he requested, jabbing a thumb in the man's direction as he slurred his name.

"For you, man, anytime," Frej said, smacking him on the back cheerfully before literally skipping off to help his gang break up the crowd.

"You fuckin' got this, Be. I can feel it. He's yours," the girl hissed into his ear encouragingly, patting the Swede's ass before sliding behind him and his challenger. "Kind of a shame, though; there's no way he's that fuckin' hot and _not_ great in bed." The look on Mathias's face when she actually shouted that to him as she walked away made Berwald really regret that it was damn near impossible for him to do anything subtly with his size.

"I AM INCLINED TO AGREE WITH MY SISTER," Frej literally screamed at the top of his lungs from clear across the circle. Berwald decided in that instant that he was going to hit them both for plotting against him.

"Bastards," he grumbled. Mathias seemed to snap out of his little self-indulgent reverie at that to glance over at his brother.

"What, what's wrong with that?"

"Should know better than to feed your ego." The smaller man just grinned.

"Hey, whatever, man. Let's just go, eh? They're getting antsy waiting." He shimmied a bit in preparation or demonstration – Berwald didn't know; he just knew that he'd really like to see it again.

"Ladies first."

_My body wants you girl, my body wants you girl_

"Oh, you think you're just _all sorts of cool_ today, don' cha? Fine, fine, I'll go." Mathias flapped a hand indignantly at the Swede as he spoke, pausing a few moments to be sure he had the beat before launching himself headlong into the circle cleared for them by Berwald's wingmen for the night.

He certainly _looked_ like he lived on a dance floor once he started moving like that, Berwald had to admit. The Dane seemed to have a way of making himself a part of anything he encountered, from dance floor to battlefield to mead hall; he swung everything from his favorite – and arguably infamous – ax to his admittedly fine ass around like he'd been doing it for far longer than he should have been, even given that he'd been around for well over a thousand years. _'If I could be like him..' _he thought despondently.

His rational side then swiftly punched him in the mental _face_ and informed him that he was allowed no more vodka for the evening. _'Can't forget how he gets. Ever.' _His face settled back into its usual lines, and some of the display was completely lost on him before he could drag himself back into the proper mindset. _'Focus. You're worse than him today. Get in there, and make him think that you _weren't _just talking out of your ass.'_

_I'll get you when I'm popular._

Berwald slid onto the little stage they'd created and smirked as he saw Frej's sister – he really would need to find out her name later – grab Mathias by the belt loops and haul him straight out of there at his entrance. He ignored the indignant squawk from the sidelines and focused on not thinking. Not thinking about how ridiculous this would look, not thinking about being like Mathias, not thinking about Mathias being like Mathias, not thinking about the crowd, not thinking about the city, not thinking about his clothes, not thinking about Mathias's clothes, _definitely_ not thinking about Mathias _not_ with Mathias's clothes (Though that had, briefly, been an issue for him before. But only for a moment. Not that he'd ever admit it.), not thinking about ABBA, not thinking about how terrifying he was supposed to be. Just not thinking.

_I'll put my hands up in the lights_

Judging by the screaming and pounding and clapping he could almost hear, he was doing something right. He'd probably never know. He'd probably never be able to face Mathias again.

Another punch from his rational side. _'Fuck you, Berwald; you did _not_ go through all of this just to run and hide like a bitch when you've finally got him paying attention.'_

_You'll see me dancing for my life._

"Go Sve!"

The fuck?

_I will be popular, I will be popular_

"FUCK YEAH, BERRY!" He was still going to kill Frej.

_I'm gonna get there, popular._

"You fuckin' got this!" His sister, too. Right after he found out who the hell she was.

Mathias had apparently rejoined him in the circle; Berwald had no clue how he'd missed that.

Oh right, he'd turned his brain off. He supposed that would do it.

"Why'd you never tell me you kept being awesome after ABBA?" came the whisper in his ear, equal parts impressed and teasing.

_Oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-popular_

"I didn't."

"Like fuck you didn't."

"Just wanted to beat you."

"And before?"

"..."

_Oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-popular_

"Why are you really here, Berwald?" Like he even fucking _knew _with that obnoxious Dane _all over him_ like that, arms around his waist pulling him into those sinful, _fucking amazing_ hips that _never seemed to stop moving_. No wonder Daan loved spending the night with him so much, if this was any indication. "Huh? Come on, you've gotta know."

"I told you; I wanted to find you."

"What the hell for?"

_Oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-pop, oh-oh-popular_

"Your wonderful personality," he answered drily, unwilling to be laughed out of the building now that he'd finally gotten the idiot to at least _touch_ him, even if it wasn't quite where he wanted.

Mathias cackled. "Why the fuck did you have to decide to grow a sense of humor when I actually want something from you?"

The glare could've sent a lesser – or smarter – man running, but the Dane was used to Berwald. "You _always_ want something from me, Mathias, and when do I _ever _give it to you?"

He thought for a moment. "When I make you?"

Memories flashed for a few seconds before his emotional side stuffed them into a corner. He simply grunted in response.

_Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-ohhhh..._

"Seriously, though, why?" Mathias was almost frustrated, he could tell. He probably wouldn't let him keep this up for much longer.

"I just wanted to find you, and see if you were capable of actually acting human. So I figured I'd find you somewhere you wanted to be." _'Hm, fuck, that actually almost makes sense. Good job, team.'_

_I will be popular, I will be popular_

"And since when do you care what I do?"

"Since always, you wouldn't leave me alone long enough for me not to."

_I'm gonna get there_

Laughter. _'I can do something right with him?' _"Okay, okay, I guess. But why is it different now?"

"It's not." He decided that since Mathias was already confused at his answer, now would be an okay time to show the bastard just how annoying it was to try to think with somebody trying to goddamn _rape you through your clothes_.

Although, naturally, he fell a bit short of the Dane's practiced example.

The surprised part of his lips that might have signaled a gasp at the contact wasn't lost on Berwald, though, and he felt that he'd accomplished something. What, he wasn't sure, but definitely something.

_My body wants you girl, my body wants you girl_

"You've fuckin' got him by the-" Frej's nameless sister started to hiss from just behind him, cut off by an almost painful-sounding choked noise that he would guess came from somebody dragging her away by the collar.

_I'll get you when I'm popular._

"But- how- you- don't like me," Mathias eventually managed, not bothering to sort his thoughts out before he spoke again, choosing not to comment on the sudden aggression. Rather, he opted instead to return it, and Berwald hissed involuntarily when he tried to answer.

Thankfully, the steady thump of the music managed to cover the noise, but he felt that the Dane looked a bit to smug to have missed it entirely. "When did I ever say that?"

The spiky-haired dancer fell silent, probably a new phenomenon for him, and set about trying to remember just such a statement. His movements slowed the more he focused.

Berwald's picked up in turn.

_I'll put my hands up in the light_

"When you and Luk- no.."

He dared to let his own hands fall slightly to hover at Mathias's hips, hooking a finger through his belt loops.

"When you took Tino and- no.."

Mathias had instinctively moved his arms up to ring the Swede's neck, and he happily took the near-invitation to slip a thumb into one of his back pockets, not yet daring to claim anything more than that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

_You'll see me dancing for my life_

"Fuck, you didn't."

"Exactly."

"I feel stupid now."

"You are stupid."

_I will be popular,_

"Shut up."

"Make me." The arms around his neck tightened, pulling him down just enough.

_I will be popular._

"..This is different."

"Shut up."

"Haha! Much better."

"No, seriously."

"Make me."

_Popular._

He sealed his lips over the Dane's for just a moment.

When he tried to pull back, to apologize, to hide, the arms kept him in place, insistent lips moving against his own until Mathias had damn well decided that he could move.

"Fån."

"You love it."

"Never said I didn't."

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

Möchtest du mit mir tanzen? (German) – Would you like to dance with me?

Ja, selvfølgelig. (Danish) – Yeah, of course.

København (Danish) – Copenhagen

Bror (Danish) – Brother

Tak (Danish) – Thanks

Skål (Danish) – Cheers

Fån (Swedish) – Idiot/prat


End file.
